I wasn't there when Kelsey died, but I saw it happen. I saw him fall charred and black down the chimney, and I saw the Thin Man do the killing. Even though I wasn't there, I couldn't help but see it.
Kelsey cost less than thirty shillings. We knew because Nick sleeps next to an old pipe that leads upstairs and he heard Scar bragging about it to the foreman. Kelsey's family was from Ireland, Scar said, and that meant they were stupid. I guess he was right. They didn't know that a boy as small as Kelsey is worth at least two pounds ten, maybe even three.
Nick had just enough time to tell us Scar had bought himself a new climbing boy before the door at the top of the stairs opened, dropping a dim rectangle of light on the black, sooty floor.
"Here's a new one for ye," Scar's voice rasped. "Treat 'im nice, boys. We got a big job come mornin'."
The door slammed shut and the cellar went dark. Uncertain feet shuffled on the staircase.
"Come on down, then," Nick called. Nick wasn't the oldest--I was ten and Jim was eleven--but he was still leader because he was faster than Jim and his fists were harder.
Feet bumped softly to the bottom of the stairs as Kelsey descended into the soot-black cellar. He was small, like all climbing boys, with blue eyes and a full head of white hair. I was the only one who could see him. I have six fingers on my left hand, so I can see in the dark. Or maybe I can see in the dark, so I have six fingers on my left hand.
"It's all right," Nick's voice said. "We ain't going to hurt you. My name's Nick. What's yours?"
"Kelsey." His voice was small and firm. "I'm four."
"You ever climb before, Kelsey?" Nick asked.
"No."
"You'll learn, and right quick," Jim put in. "Less'n you wants a fire underneath or hatpins in your arse. And then there's the Thin Man."
"Shut it, Jim," Nick snapped. "Kelsey, there's six of us down here--Dodd, Jim, Brick, Kit, Rafe, and me. Say 'hello' boys."
A chorus of "hello's" and "evenin's" filled the ash cellar, followed by a bout of coughing that echoed against the stone walls. Scar's cellar was cool in summer and cold in winter, but the soot kept us passably warm. It made a soft blanket, almost like gray silk, unless you breathed too hard. Then it turned on you and clotted the breath in your lungs.
"I'm the leader," Nick continued, "and don't you forget it. How'd Scar bring you in?"
"Who's Scar?" Kelsey asked.
"His name's John Scarsdale," Brick said. There was a familiar clanking as he rearranged his poke. "We calls him Scar 'cause of his looks. But don't tell him that."
"Mum tol' me to go with Scar," Kelsey said. "She said Scar'd give me more food'n she could."
Nick snorted. "Well, find yourself a place on the floor and get some sleep. We gets up early."
A pause, then a rustling sound. I coughed once or twice and settled back down into my soot pile, glad that Kelsey was one of the quiet ones. New boys are usually scared or angry, especially if their parents sold them or they were orphans from the church.
The next morning when the foreman came downstairs with his lamp to shout us awake, Kelsey was lying curled up in a pile of ashes with his thumb in his mouth. His face was already gray with soot but there were no tear tracks on his cheeks.
"Up with ye!" the foreman bellowed. "Let's move!"
We moved--the foreman always carried a carriage whip. Little Kelsey scrambled to his feet along with us. His hair was still white and I wondered why it wasn't gray with soot like the rest of him.
The foreman herded us upstairs, burlap pokes clanking and thumping rough against our backs. Scar waited in the chilly kitchen with a scissors. Without a word he picked Kelsey up, dropped him into a chair, and started cutting off his hair. Kelsey sat motionless for a moment, mouth open. Then he screamed. The foreman promptly smashed Kelsey's face with a fist. Kelsey slumped and his eyes slid half shut.
"Shut it, boy," the foreman growled. "None of our boys is lousy and you ain't gonna be the first."
Scar went back to his cutting. Long hanks of white dropped to the floor and they gleamed in the dim lamplight. I stared at them. I didn't know why, but those hanks of hair were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. The others stood by, coughing and hoping it wouldn't get worse for Kelsey. There was nothing else to do.
When Scar was finished, Kelsey's hair was so short he looked bald. There were cuts and scratches all over his head and I winced. They'd be red and dirty by the end of the day.
"All right, let's go," Scar said. "No time for breakfast--we're late enough. Give the new one a poke, Harv, and we'll be off."
The foreman yanked Kelsey out of the chair and threw a sooty cap and one of the extra pokes at him. As everyone headed outside, I glanced back at the soft silver lying on the floor by the chair and all of a sudden I couldn't leave it in that cold, dark kitchen. No one else was looking. I dashed back and scooped up a handful. It was soft and caught the ridges of my hands. I had never felt anything like it. I stuffed the hair in my pocket and had grabbed another handful when the foreman noticed I was missing. He stomped back into the kitchen just as I shoved the second handful in with the first.
"What are ye waitin' on?" He thumped me on the ear and I saw stars. "Slacking off?"
I stumbled out the door. It was still dark outside. My bare feet came down on cold, hard cobblestones, and a nip in the air said summer was over. Scar was waiting impatiently with the horse and cart.
"Step lively, boys," he said, snapping the reins. "We've got a ways to go."
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